


The Ropes That Bind Our Love, And The Knives That Cut Us Free Of It

by practicingsilentdeath



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Death, Gore, Hate, Killing, Love, M/M, Porn, Rape, don't know if it will be continued, graphic details, serial killer au, the knife is ruby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:51:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/practicingsilentdeath/pseuds/practicingsilentdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But this didn't bother him, not really; seeing as it was his job and he painted garages with epoxy at least twice a month. Though usually people don’t tie him up afterward and threaten to stab a little deeper each time he squirmed.<br/>...<br/>Or: In which Dean is very good at acting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ropes That Bind Our Love, And The Knives That Cut Us Free Of It

**Author's Note:**

> Serial Killer AU! The song that inspired this was Ain't No Rest For The Wicked by Cage the Elephant. (Read the tags, please.)

 

 

The ropes bind her hands gently, burning the soft flesh of her wrists. By this point she had stopped struggling—thank _God—_ and the blade still sat on the table, a shadow out-lining its sharp points and rough edges.

Castiel hadn’t touched the girl yet. He was waiting for her to scream, for her to _beg_ for forgiveness or what the hell ever. Dean knew the man’s routines through and through, mesmerizing every careful movement and every hard thrust. And as the rope started irritating his skin and the garage seemed colder than before, he felt someone—or something—watching him. An eerie feeling crept up and down his spine, cold chills running through his body.

It was getting late. The sun was beginning to set—it was July, so it didn’t set until about nine—and colors painted the sky. Beautiful pinks and oranges created a rainbow of reflections on the wall opposite of the window.

The walls weren’t exactly dry yet, so paint stuck to his hand as he regrettably jerked upright, creating a noise that was sure to make Castiel come in any minute now.  

 _Fuck._ He really shouldn’t have done that. But the rope burned and burned and blood started reaching the surface.

And just as he thought maybe it was a false alarm, the door swung open, and out walked a beautiful, blue-eyed serial killer.

“Why did you hit the wall? Fucking fresh paint, knew I should’ve put _you_ in the house…” the man mumbled, flicking ashes from his cigarette onto ground. He obviously didn’t care about the fresh epoxy flooring that Dean had spent _hours_ putting in.

But this didn’t bother him, not really; seeing as it was his job and he painted garages with epoxy at least twice a month. But usually people don’t tie him up afterward and threaten to stab a little deeper each time he squirmed.

“My wrists hurt. And golly gee, I wonder why.”

Dean, unlike most people, was oddly calm when facing danger like this. Sure, he was scared, but more than anything? He was tired, thirsty, and a little horny, not that he was going to admit that. Didn’t want to give Mr. Gay Serial Killer over here any ideas. Seriously, the guy was too creepy not to be gay; over compensating for the fact that he fucks men on the side.

And then kills them. Though that’s not important, and certainly not going on anyone’s resume.

“Don’t get smart, Green Eyes. The sooner you start screaming, the sooner you get out,” Castiel says, lifting Ruby—the knife—into the air, studying her fine, sharp blade.  

It was truly a beautiful weapon when not cutting into someone’s flesh and bones. 

“Mm. You know, if you weren’t such a psycho I really think we could have worked out.”

Castiel, despite the situation, smiles for the first time since Dean’s been here. Which has only been two days, but still.  

“That’s sweet,” he murmurs, “But I’m not a serial killer. She’s the first one to go since last year, actually.”

“She’s dead? Oh,” Dean says, as realization hits him. Of course she’s dead, she hasn’t moved for hours. Last time she was up and kicking a knife was carving into her stomach.

God, he was such an idiot sometimes.

“Yeah, she’s dead. Good thing, too. That way she won’t see when you fuck me.”

O…kay, then. Well. That was unexpected, to say the least.

“ _What?_ ” Dean shouts, his voice squeaking with anxiety. _He wants you to fuck him, dumbass,_ his brain says. _So do it. You know you want to feel him milking your cock, rocking his hips up and down, feel him clench around you and scream when he comes…_

“You seem to like the idea.” Castiel notes, grabbing Dean’s cock through his jeans. Dean involuntarily jerks upward, head leaning back against the wall. “No, the paint is—wet.”

“Fuck. Get off me.” Dean manages, embarrassed at his reaction to the other man’s touch. _Really? You’re embarrassed now? How about scared for your life?_

His brain must be bi-polar or some shit because he could've swore all of two seconds ago he was gearing and ready to go. 

“No can do. You shouldn't worry, though, seeing as you really don't have any say so in this situation. Besides. You're getting off in this, much as I am.”

It was true, much as he hated to admit that to himself. He was turned on by a serial-killer dry humping him in some old, stinky garage with fumes that made his head hurt.

Fuck, he was such a mess.

“You gonna rape me?”

“Rape is without consent, Green Eyes. I won’t do this if you don’t want to. Tell me no, and we’ll stop.”

Fuck. He couldn’t do it. He tried to form the words, and they stuck to the back of his throat. He couldn’t tell this man no.

“Shit.”

Moments went by, and neither Dean nor Cas said anything. They simply stared into each other's eyes, thinking, wanting.

“You’re not into it, are you? Damn. I thought this would be fun.” Castiel murmurs, being the first--surprisingly--to break character. They had been planning this for weeks. 

And even if fresh epoxy fumes and a chilly garage that had blood dripping onto the ground wasn't exactly part of that plan, well, that was nobody's business but their own. 

“Hey, I liked it. It’s just—my head hurts, babe. And my wrists burn, and this garage stinks. We should’ve done it in the house, like you said…fuck it. Let's go inside."

“Really? What about the girl?” Dean shrugs, cocking his head to the right a bit.

“We can clean up later. You get the garbage bags?” Castiel nods, un-tying the ropes from Dean’s wrist. It was more like a wire-cord, really, but it was all they had.

Castiel was now realizing he wasn't exactly at the top of anyone's list for planning a party.

“I did. Large, black...told the cashier we’re, ah, summer-cleaning.”

“She bought it?”

“Like a married man buys a hooker. Now, let’s continue inside before Jimmy leaves us, huh?” Castiel points to his erection, an obvious tent in his loose sweat pants.

“Who’s bottoming?” Dean asks, wiping his hands on the blood-stained rag that set beside Ruby. 

“Well." Cas mutters, “I planned to. So whatever you want to do is fine," he finishes, gently easing himself into the other man’s arms. They stay there for a minute, enjoying the fumes and the blood from the girl, despite everything.

“You remember when we met?” Dean says, his voice close yet far away. It sends shivers down Castiel’s spine as he leans his head against the other man’s chest.

“Of course. It was a Thursday—”

“I love Thursdays." 

“I know you do. Now, much as I love talking about this…” he mutters, his voice trailing off. He jerks up when Dean trails his hands down his back and grips his ass, raising him up and setting him on the hood of the Impala.

He forces Castiel to lay on his back, pulling his zipper down slowly and tugging at the waist-band of his jeans.

“I thought—we—were supposed to— _fuck_ —go inside.”

“Plans change, Cas,” he murmurs, kissing a trail up and down Castiel’s body, starting from his collar-bone to his thigh, avoiding the one thing Castiel wants him to pay attention to.

“Tease.” Cas says, struggling to breathe. “Hate you for it.”

“Know you do.”

“I don’t hate you.” Castiel says after a while, gently running a hand through Dean's hair.

“I know,” Dean replies.

They don’t say much else, but they don’t have to. It’s moments like these that shut both of them up, pouring themselves into each other, giving with everything they’ve got. Whispers of love and familiarity stir in the air, gently caressing the rough edges of their minds.

Even as Dean lowers himself onto Castiel, even as Castiel thrusts upward slowly, even as they yell each other’s name and white flashes before their eyes, they don’t say a thing.

And they don’t have to.  

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I wrote this at 1:00 in the morning so if there are any mistakes and or recurring sentences its my fault. This fic was not beta'd and the last time I edited it was on my phone, so hopefully it didn't turn out too bad. Thanks for reading! :)


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